


Easy as Cake

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Baking, Cake, M/M, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-14 08:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13003455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Noct's having a Winter Solstice party, and Prompto volunteers to help Ignis cook. (Ignis Fluff Week Day 4: + “Happy Winter Solstice, Ignis.”)





	1. Chapter 1

Prompto has eaten a lot of Solstice cakes – sixteen, probably, because he thinks the first must have been after his parents adopted him. Choosing one at the cake shop had been thrilling as a kid. Family photos show a procession of mostly-similar cakes, decorated with cartoon characters or trains or dogs, or as he got older, plain whipped cream and strawberries. He knows his parents pull strings to both get the evening off at work. Maybe it's dumb, but Solstice eve always gets him right in the family feelings.

So when Noct says he's going to have a party, Prompto's stomach drops. He _wants_ to go, of course he does, but – 

"– the Saturday before," Noct continues, and makes a weird squinty-eyed grimace. "The actual eve, my dad and I do... stuff."

"Me, too," Prompto assures him with more enthusiasm than called for. "Cool. Awesome! You want me to bring something?"

Noct shrugs. "A stupid cheap present for the swap. Ask Ignis about food. He's got a spreadsheet, probably."

As it turns out, Ignis _does_ , and it's color-coordinated and automatically generates both a nutritional breakdown and a shopping list. Which turns out to be Ignis' segue into explaining that he doesn't need anything.

"I'm good in the kitchen," Prompto says, mouth moving faster than common sense. "I've got an apron and everything." (He made it in junior high home ec class out of chocobo-print fabric.) And then, recklessly, because he has a psychic sense for incoming rejection, "I'll be there at three."

Ignis, miraculously, doesn't say no. Prompto figures out why when he shows up at Noct's, apron and badly-wrapped present in his backpack. Most of the meal is already cooked or cooking; Ignis has probably been here _all day_. The whole apartment smells amazing.

Prompto feels his smile freeze on his face, and kind of wants to walk right back out the door. Of course Ignis is a better cook than he is; of course he didn't need a high school kid getting in the way.

" _There_ you are," Ignis says, covering the pots on the stove and turning the burners off. "I was wondering whether I'd have to start making the cake without you."

"Sorry," Prompto says, knee-jerk manners while his head's reeling, because: _cake_? He's going to be making _cake_? "Work's nuts this time of year."

"Oh," and Prompto tries not to blush as Ignis stares at him. Ignis is gorgeous and glamorous, and before they actually talked Prompto used to fantasize about him the same way he did about equally-unattainable TV stars and singers. It's awkward, now that they hang out occasionally, to remember that he's touched himself imagining Ignis' gloves, and his court accent, and his secret assassin's skills that Noct hints about. Especially when Ignis' sharp green eyes are staring right into his soul. "Why don't you sit down for a minute. Have a cup of tea?"

Prompto heads for the table instead, to dump off his bag and coat and scarf and gloves. "No way. I've got a cake-track mind already." He ties his apron on and spreads his arms, ta-da. "Let me just go wash my hands." With all the rush orders for solstice greeting cards, naturally the printer has decided to act up, and he had to take it apart for the third time this morning. Ink and grease up to his elbows, and Rena cackling _oh yeah, photography, so glamorous_ in between calls from demanding customers.

When he returns, as well-scrubbed as only a doctor's kid can be, Ignis has all the cake ingredients lined up on the counter with military precision and is examining one of the mixing bowls as if it might explode or something.

"Lose a contact?" Prompto asks, taking a peek at the bowl himself to see what's up.

"Yes. How perceptive of you." Ignis sets the bowl down and pointedly adjusts his glasses. "I'm putting you in charge of the eggs." 

"Can do," Prompto lies through a grin, and gets cracking.

Fortunately for him, Ignis walks him through all the steps. As it's mixed, the egg/sugar mixture changes from yellow and bubbly to white and then starts to thicken. Prompto is terrified to look away: who knows what it'll do next?

Ignis, sifting the flour for what must be the fourth time, doesn't seem perturbed at all. "When you can draw an _8_ on the surface and it holds, you're done," he says, and a bowl of melted butter appears from the Gods only know where.

Prompto tries, and watches the downstroke sink before the number's even done.

"Nearly there," Ignis diagnoses, and flits over to the stove to do something vegetable-related.

After another minute, Prompto gives it another go, and this time it's almost right. "Now?" he asks, slowing the mixer speed down and gesturing comprehensively. He really doesn't want to screw this up. It wouldn't be world-ending – he passed at least two shops selling cakes on the way here – but he wants to look cool and not pathetic in front of Noct and Noct's friends. He especially doesn't want to fail at something Ignis has specifically allowed him to do.

"Here." Ignis turns the mixer off and holds something out, a toothpick. With a bit of a flourish, he sets it in the thickened mixture, where it stands like a tiny flagpole, not sinking or tilting at all. "Perfect."

Ignis looks smug, as if the success is all his doing, but Prompto's face doesn't care. He blushes so hard at the praise that his hair probably goes red, too. Ignis' expression morphs into concern, while Prompto works to project an aura of nothing being weird, and then Ignis blinks once, like he's just had a realization. Prompto doesn't think he's imagining that Ignis's cheeks also flush, but is that sympathetic embarrassment? Embarrassment on Prompto's behalf? Embarrassment to even be in the same room – ?

Not the last one, he tells himself firmly. _Not today, brain-weasels._

"So what's next?" he asks, not quite suave but at least not squeaky. He taps his fingers on the countertop.

"Now we put everything together." Ignis pushes his glasses up and pulls himself back into instructor mode, handing Prompto a scraper to cut the flour in with.

They fall into an intense back-and-forth, Ignis providing the things to be mixed in and Prompto gamely mixing, until finally Ignis produces a paper-lined pan and Prompto gets to pour in the batter. Ignis makes him drop the cake pan on the counter twice – _from a height no greater than five centimeters_ – which Prompto almost cries at – what's the point of mixing in all those bubbles if they were just going to get shaken out again? – but then the cake is in the oven and Prompto can slump against the counter in relief.

"There," Ignis says with satisfaction, wiping his hands on the towel tucked at the waist of his apron. He turns and reappears just seconds later with matching cups of hot coffee. He hands one to Prompto, offers sugar and cream (Prompto refuses), and then inhales half of his with a near-religious appreciation.

"Long day?" Prompto asks, sympathetically. He can relate, he thinks. Even though he only works only on weekends and holidays, there's still school to keep up with, and his chores and the shopping.

"But a good one." Ignis smiles at him over the rim of his cup, and Prompto wonders if he's been wearing glasses long enough that he doesn't notice when his lenses fog up. Or maybe he likes coffee so much he puts up with the inconvenience. "Normally I wouldn't be able to take a day off at this time of year. Noct volunteered to take over my duties for the day." Prompto had the impression that most of those duties were supposed to be Noct's in the first place, but whatever. Ignis' faint smile sharpens. "I believe he managed to inveigle Gladio into assisting him. At any rate, there were three meetings on the schedule, and I have been... enjoying the quiet and indulging my hobby."

Prompto raises his cup like a toast. "Not a bad Solstice present." Probably exactly what Ignis wanted – he probably didn't need to have stuff bought for him, at least judging by his clothes and his car and his general classy Ignis-ness.

Ignis looks taken aback, as if that hadn't even occurred to him, and then tilts his head in concession. "Provided they don't cause any diplomatic incidents or burn anything down."

" _Has_ Noct ever set the Citadel on fire?" Prompto asks, hoping there's a story there. He likes hearing about Noct being a kid. "Have _you_?" His mental picture of a younger Ignis is just him but smaller, in the same work uniform and the same side-parted junior corporate haircut Ignis had for years. Prompto's heart had nearly stopped the first time Ignis picked Noct up from school with his hair stylishly spiked, looking defensive about having his whole face on view (for maybe the first time ever).

Ignis is giving him a similar look now, as if trying to figure out if Prompto will use the information for evil. Which – well, yes, probably, but more like the _Hey Noct, I hear you set your birthday cake on fire_ kind of evil, not selling gossip about royalty to shitty newspapers evil. He tries not be offended, especially since paparazzi shots of Count Some-face's daughter sunbathing just caused a scandal.

"A minor explosion," Ignis says finally, as if choosing his words with care. "Consisting mostly of pudding."

Prompto grins. "Go on."

Ignis hands him a cutting board and a razor-sharp knife, and Prompto gets the whole story (several kilos of instant pudding mix intended for a party, two kids with a keen interest in volcanoes, the king's former hot tub R.I.P., and a failure to understand the complexities of plumbing) while prepping fruit. Ignis has kupoberries, oranges imported from Duscae, some green thing Prompto's never seen before, and – 

"The apple of Eden!" Prompto proclaims, holding it aloft. "I could control the whole world with this. Is it a fruit? Is it a weapon? Is it red and delicious?"

"Is it really the time for bad video game jokes?"

Prompto shrugs, unrepentant. "I said it, but you understood me, dude." He flashes Ignis a grin.

Ignis takes the apple from him, gently but firmly, and reaches around to cover Prompto's hand on the knife handle with his own, turning it so the blade faces straight upward. Then, before Prompto twigs to what's up, Ignis drops the apple down onto the knife. There isn't any resistance: half of the apple falls to one side, half to the other, and Prompto is both terrified and perversely turned on.

After all, Ignis is practically hugging him from the back, and they are totally holding hands, even if there's a knife involved. The knife, Prompto thinks faintly, is probably symbolic of something. Something sexual. He'd pay a lot right now for just ten seconds of mindreading. What does Ignis think about the sexual symbolism and the apple and the way he's holding Prompto? Is this just one of the bro jock things that Prompto missed out on because he doesn't practice hand-to-hand combat for fun? Would Ignis be horrified if Prompto turned around and hugged him? Kissed him? Dragged him down to Noct's kitchen floor and – 

"Sorry," Ignis says lightly, setting the knife down and freeing Prompto's hand. He takes a step back, but Prompto turns and gets a good look at his face. He looks the way Prompto feels when he's being smothered by another hopeless crush, and one thought lights Prompto's brain up like all the Solstice lights in Insomnia: _me_?

No one else is here, after all, and he knows – everyone knows; it's not a secret – that Ignis prefers guys. And, Prompto's a guy. Not anywhere in Ignis' league, but... Ignis still chose to make the Solstice cake with him. Kind of a date thing, in Prompto's book, even if it was more like a _stealth_ date, considering Prompto had no clue. He's had a couple of those himself, persuading himself that spending time together was sweeter than cold rejection, in the end. He's a little boggled by the idea that Ignis – dagger-throwing, daredevil, defensive- and _offensive_ -driving Ignis – might be scared of getting his heart trampled for Solstice.

But the pieces fit. Especially the dawning misery on Ignis' face as Prompto stares at him.

Prompto doesn't know how to tell him it's okay, though. His mom had made him watch her favorite romcom when he was a kid, where the awkward delivery girl fed the strawberries from her Solstice cake to the mysterious stranger, which demonstrated her love, he guessed, because then they kissed. He still felt vicarious embarrassment remembering that. He doubts seduction works like that in real life. What if the strawberries of his passion got rejected, and he ended up looking the way Ignis does now?

"You shouldn't be sorry," Prompto says, trying to assure him. "Don't be."

Ignis' mouth thins, but he nods once, briskly. "Thank you," he says, and then, "for the kindness of overlooking my lapse."

"What?" Prompto says. " _No_. I'm trying to work up the nerve to ask you out, not make you suffer."

"Well, you could have _said_ ," Ignis snaps, and then his eyes widen, appalled at what just came out of his mouth.

Prompto is startled into a wide grin, suddenly buoyant. Someone said the wrong thing, and it wasn't _him_. "You have no idea how comforting it is for me to know you're not _entirely_ perfect."

"I endeavor to please," Ignis says dryly. He holds out his hand, and when Prompto takes it, he tugs him in close. Like, apron-to-apron close.

Prompto's heart is in his throat, and he wishes he'd put some music on. He doesn't have any distractions, and he's 99% sure that if he looks up he's going to get kissed. He takes a breath, and looks up.

His next conscious thought is that he really, really likes kissing Ignis. He sort of has to cling to him, because his knees go weak when the kissing goes from light fluttery exploration to open-mouthed and desperate. He doesn't think Ignis minds: he's got one hand in Prompto's hair and the other around his waist, and his breathing is ragged. Ignis closes his eyes when he kisses, Prompto discovers, and makes little breathy gasps when Prompto does something he likes.

Just when Prompto is seriously starting to wonder if Ignis would mind being dragged down to the floor and ravished, the oven timer dings. The cake is done cooking.


	2. Chapter 2

"One moment," Ignis says. He takes the pan out, tests that it's cooked in the center, drops the pan (from a height no greater than ten centimeters), and removes the cake from the pan, stripping away the paper carefully as he slides it onto a wire rack.

Prompto's impressed – and a little unnerved, to be honest – by how easily Ignis switches gears from making out, as if he isn't affected at all (when Prompto feels as if every nerve in his body is set to full arousal). But Ignis swings back to him for a hungry kiss, hands running along Prompto's arms like he can't stop himself, and Prompto has a lightbulb moment as he's encouraging Ignis to devour him. He knows Ignis and Gladio's jobs are intensive and that – like his parents – they're always on call. If Noct or the King or the Council or the Marshall or _anyone_ needs them, they have to commit 110% right then, no questions asked. Even if they're on a date or celebrating Solstice or having sex (he's thinking a lot about sex right now).

He supposes Ignis must get lonely or frustrated, sometimes, even though he obviously loves what he does.

"Wait," Ignis says, pulling away, even though he was the one who started this second round of making out. His eyes are very dark and his mouth is red. Prompto can't stop staring. Ignis pulls out his cell phone and steals the opportunity to adjust himself in his trousers – very subtly, Prompto only notices because he's noticing _everything_ and still thinking about sex. "Gladio and Noct are due here in an hour," he says, checking his messages. "They're purchasing last-minute items at the store. I need to get the roast started, and the cake – "

Prompto gets the peculiar feeling he's observing a rare instance of Ignis having to taking himself into work.

"I'm not going anywhere," he points out. "I'm useful. Use me."

He probably should have phrased that better; Ignis' eyes widen, but then he gives a sharp nod. Then things get weird.

Ignis still gives patient instructions and orders he expects to be followed precisely, but he also keeps _touching_ Prompto – brushes of his fingers, feather-light kisses, a hand firm at the small of his back. It's like a dam broke, and nothing can hold Ignis back.

While Prompto finishes off the fruit, Ignis uses _magic_ on the cake, a flash of icy air that gives Prompto instant goosebumps all over.

"Cool," Prompto says, drawing a happy face in the frost that's settled on the countertop. He doesn't know if Ignis is allowed to use magic like that, but it's very, very sexy.

"Precisely." Satisfied that the cake is sufficiently chilled, Ignis takes out what Prompto suspects is a garotte and slices four perfect, thin layers. "Then, if I can ask you to fill the layers with the berries and whipped cream – " he pulls a bowl from the fridge – "I'll get the roast started."

Prompto dips a strawberry in the cream, just because it's there, and then finds himself stuck with it. _What the hell_ , he thinks, and holds it out to Ignis. "Taste test?"

Ignis reaches out, but catches Prompto's wrist instead of taking the strawberry. He raises his hand up and eats the fruit in two precise bites. He gets cream at the corner of his mouth, which Prompto swipes away with his thumb and Ignis licks clean. They work pretty well together, Prompto thinks, considering they're not getting any actual work done.

"Well, okay," Prompto says inanely. "I'll just..." He gestures.

"Wash your hands again?" Ignis suggests, looking pained.

"Yeah."

On returning, Prompto makes the cake like a _machine_ : cake layer, cream, sliced fruit, cake layer, all the way to the top, then more cream applied with some helpful knife tips from Ignis. Then fruit piled up artistically on top and painted with nappage, a few artistic shavings of very good chocolate, and _bam_ done. Ignis puts a cover over the cake plate and sticks it in the refrigerator, and then eyes his potful of potatoes with grim determination.

_Nope._ "Gladio can smash those," Prompto says blithely, grabbing Ignis' hand. "You've – _I've_ been on my feet all day. Could use a sit-down."

One of Ignis' elegant eyebrows quirks. "Your ulterior motives are showing." Still, he doesn't try and stop Prompto from hauling him over to the sofa to maul him.

Ignis mauls him right back, until Prompto finds himself flipped onto his back with his hands pinned down, and a very disheveled Ignis smirking down at him smugly.

It's actually kind of fun to struggle against Ignis' implacable grip, especially when Prompto gets his feet planted against the cushions and can shove his hips up. Ignis is hard, and the pressure makes him groan and push back. It's basically, Prompto thinks, like having sex, but fully-clothed.

Just like that the thought strikes like lightning: there's a good chance he's going to see Ignis naked – touch him, even – and that's when Ignis' phone rings, the ringtone Noctis'.

Ignis' head drops to Prompto's shoulder with a harsh noise of frustration. "I don't ask for much," Ignis says, muffled.

Prompto frees his hands, sliding one into Ignis' hair and reaching down with the other to grab his ass and keep him from escaping. 

Ignis groans and snaps his hips down, chasing blindly after orgasm even as he says, "I have to – I should – "

"You should kiss me," Prompto says.

Ignis tries, but it's open-mouthed and messy, and his movements are desperate, grinding down as hard as Prompto is grinding up. He groans into Prompto's mouth when he comes, tense and shaking, and it's the hottest thing Prompto's ever seen. Hot enough to have Prompto coming moments later, shoving the side of his hand into his mouth to keep from shouting.

"Well," Ignis says. He sounds wrecked, and unnaturally mellow.

"Let's go steal Noct's underwear." Prompto struggles up to sitting, keeping Ignis in the circle of his arms. "He'll never notice."

After a short contemplative pause, Ignis murmurs, "That's a plan," and gets up. Prompto follows.

Prompto changes in Noct's room and lets Ignis duck into the bathroom. Prompto's always kind of a mess after work, so no one's going to look twice at his hair or clothes. He can tell the story about the broken printer if asked, anyway. Ignis, though – Prompto pretty much _destroyed_ his usual perfection, which not even a whole day spent cooking managed to do. (He feels very smug about this.)

Prompto grabs an empty chip bag from Noct's floor, stuffs his dirty underwear in, and goes out to go bury it at the very bottom of his backpack. Noct's boxer briefs are hellishly comfortable, and he might just steal them for good, he thinks idly. He peeks at the cake – still gorgeous, still awesome – and starts setting the table. It's an easy job, and if he messes the spoons up, well, someone will correct him.

Ignis emerges from the bathroom with his phone to his ear, Gladio on the other end from the half of the conversation Prompto can hear.

"– and you're doing the potatoes," Ignis says. " _No_ – and I will withhold cake if you whine." He hangs up with a sigh. "They'll be here in five minutes."

Prompto puts down his fistful of forks and goes over to inveigle Ignis into a hug. "You okay?"

Ignis hums, as if neither _yes_ nor _no_ apply. "I never thought I'd lose my virginity on Noct's sofa."

"Check under the cushions," Prompto advises. "It's probably in there with the loose change and game cartridges and stale popcorn."

Ignis snorts, and then – unable to hold back – breaks into uncontrollable laughter, He nearly doubles over with the force of it, and Prompto grins and pats him on the back until he's recovered.

"I like you," Ignis says, wiping his watering eyes off on his sleeve and giving Prompto a look equal parts wondering and vulnerable. Prompto has no idea what to do with that, so he's glad Ignis gives him a brisk kiss and heads for the kitchen to conduct a symphony of heating and reheating. Prompto brings over serving bowls and platters and tries not to get in the way.

Gladio and Noct stagger in, weighed down with bags, and suddenly everything is loud. Music is on, Noct is starving and needs to tell everyone about it, and Gladio's pounding the potatoes like they're enemy troops. Prompto realizes with a start that he needs to get pictures of the food _right now_ before the carnage starts.

It's amazing that the table doesn't break under the weight of so many dishes. There're potatoes and squash and green beans with almonds and two different kinds of savory pie and bread rolls with herb butter and salad and the roast sliced thin and pearl onions and baby cabbages with bacon and maple syrup, which are so fucking delicious that even Noct begs for seconds (Prompto gets that on video). Gladio insists that Noct and Prompto can be trusted to have a glass of champagne each, in honor of the holiday. Noct's probably used to drinking from all the state functions he goes to, but Prompto is _not_ , and by the end of the meal he's tipsy, encapsulated in fizzy bubbles of happiness.

After dinner, Prompto and Ignis are banished from the clean-up in the kitchen and find themselves perched on the sofa. Prompto feels like a criminal on a police drama, driven by guilt to revisit the scene of the crime, and from his expression, Ignis is in the same boat. There's no way he's going to chat where they could be overheard, but Prompto fishes his phone out of his pocket and slouches back to send Ignis a message.

_So does this mean we're dating?_ he types painstakingly. Ignis likes capital letters (and strawberries with cream, and having his collarbone bitten, right here, on this very spot).

Ignis has his phone out as well and doesn't even glance over at Prompto to reply. _Doesn't it?_ Prompto is very, very close to throwing cushions when a second message arrives. _I've never done anything like this before, please forgive my missteps._

_We're in this together, we'll figure it out together,_ Prompto assures him. Peeking up at Ignis through his eyelashes, he sees him blink as he reads, and then a faint flush spread across his cheeks. _Are we telling Noct? And Gladio?_

Ignis turns his head slightly to stare at the two of them, arguing over how to pack up the leftovers now. _I would appreciate a grace period,_ he sends. _To come to an understanding between ourselves and attain a certain degree of familiarity before exposing what we have to scrutiny._

Prompt has never seen so many syllables in a message before. It's impressive. He's tempted to ask whether Ignis meant _exposing_ figuratively or literally (it's a fabulous mental image), but suppresses that champagne giddiness. He is also not going to ask whether 'a certain degree of familiarity' means sex – he will just assume the answer is yes, and put his faith in the gods.

_Okay_ , he replies. And then, feeling mischievous: _Sounds like a plan._

"Are we eating cake or what?" Noct yells from the kitchen. He sounds put out, like there's a conspiracy that exists solely to deny him dessert.

"I gotta get a picture first," Prompto yells back, even though he's already on his feet, heading for his bag to grab his tripod. "I made that cake, it's a work of art."

There's a lot of general scoffing, which is to be expected, but Ignis shocks everyone by confirming that Prompto's not lying. He sets the cake in the center of the cleared-off table, and they all line up behind it, arms thrown around necks and waists, like some kind of out-of-control hugging monstrosity.

The pictures are hilarious. The cake is chopped into quarters, and they nearly kill themselves polishing it off. The stupid presents are exchanged – Prompto gets a mysterious moogle-themed spatula – and then it's time to head home, work tomorrow and all that. Gladio hands Prompto a bag of leftovers, Noct raises a limp hand from where he's mostly passed out on the sofa, and Ignis announces he's going to walk Prompto down to the elevators.

"All the way down the corridor," Gladio says, eyebrows raised skeptically. "You think he's going to get mugged? Here?"

"He might get lost," Ignis says, as if that makes perfect sense.

"Tell Iggy he's not drinking any more tonight," Gladio instructs Noct. "Royal decree."

Prompto shuts the door on them decisively. Ignis doesn't say anything, walking him down to the elevator block, but as soon as they're inside the elevator they're kissing, all the way down to the first floor. Saying goodbye feels momentous and traumatic, which is ridiculous – nearly as ridiculous as Ignis standing there in the elevator, holding the 'door open' button, watching him go.

"Oh," Prompto says, turning back, because how could he have forgotten? "I didn't say, but – I like you too."

The happiness he sees on Ignis' face is more than enough to keep him warm, all the way home.


End file.
